


Too Long

by faerie_lights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Frottage, Hand Jobs, It's my first fic go easy on me please, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, Sad Dean Winchester, Some Dialogue Taken from the Show, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_lights/pseuds/faerie_lights
Summary: My retelling of Season 13 episodes 1-5 with gaps filled in and from the perspective of each of the different characters.  Dean falling apart without Cas, Sam dying of worry about his brother, Cas trying desperately to get back to Dean.  Totally canon compliant until the very end.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

**Dean**

There was no alarm. It was the sounds of ordinary life that dragged Dean Winchester up from the depths of his troubled, heavy sleep. Regular sounds. Voices murmuring, a dropped book, his sasquatch brother’s giant clomping feet echoing down the hallway outside his door. Dean rolled over in bed and opened his eyes. He tucked an arm behind his head and fixed a thousand yard stare at the ceiling of his room. There was no life in the apple green eyes and they saw nothing of the ceiling tiles nor anything else in the room for that matter. Instead, Dean saw the same horrific scene he’d seen every time sleep abandoned him. A funeral pyre, the wooden logs stacked like a leaning fence, fingers of flame reaching high into the sky and a linen-wrapped corpse slowly burning to ash. Dean swallowed hard and clenched his hands to fists in a desperate attempt to stave off the feeling he knew was coming. It was pointless of course. His hands had never stopped feeling it. The heaviness of Cas’s body. The unresponsiveness when Dean had lifted his feet to wrap the curtain around them. How cold he’d been, how he’d already begun to feel stiff and foreign in Dean’s hands. Dean turned his face into the pillow to keep from screaming. Outside the door, the regular life noises continued. Dean hated them with all his heart.

 

**Sam and Jody**

“Has he come out at all?” Jody’s face was a study in compassion. “I mean besides to pee and get more alcohol and whatever.”

“Not really.” Sam rested his head in hand wearily. With his other hand he pushed back the curtain of hair that threatened to hide his face from his surrogate mother. “Jody, what am I gonna do? Dean’s drowning. He can’t cope with this. All he does is drink and sleep. And break shit. And there’s Jack to worry about. A goddam week old teenager. With fucking superpowers.  

Jody moved around Sam to stand behind him and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She rested her chin on top of his head, and Sam let out a long sigh like a shudder. Jody tightened her embrace. They stayed that way for several minutes. Jody broke the silence first.

“Where is Jack?” she asked, stroking Sam’s shiny hair and giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“Also in his goddam room,” Sam replied, quickly dragging an arm across his eyes. “I feel like the headmaster of a really messed up boarding school.” Jody chuckled and settled herself into one of the library’s heavy wooden chairs. She smiled up at Sam.

“Well, messed up teenagers happen to be my specialty,” she quipped. Sam managed a watery smile. His relief at her presence was obvious.

“Why do you think I called you? Who better to handle the teenage son of Satan who considers and entirely different fallen angel to be his father?” 

“Line one on my resume, buddy.” Jody’s unflagging grin was doing wonders for Sam’s state of mind. He’d called her two days ago, desperate, overwhelmed and in a panic that he found himself responsible for this entirely bizarre creature and that his brother, his rock, the unbreakable action hero that had raised him was in fact, broken. Shattered actually, by a pain that he could not handle. Sam had never seen him quite like this. Dean had never been great with emotional pain. Generally he seemed to process everything through anger and varying stages of alcoholism. And truthfully, after losing their mom and Cas and Crowley, Sam had expected Dean’s trademarked rage. And Dean had not disappointed. The search for Jack after that horrible night had gone pretty much the way Sam had expected. Dean had been his usual taciturn, overly controlled self. White knuckling the steering wheel of the Impala, mouth set in a straight, unforgiving line, the picture of grim determination. His focus on killing Jack had been unwavering. Sam sighed, remembering the waves of pain he’d felt pouring off of Dean. __Crowley’s dead, Kelly’s dead, Cas is…, Mom’s gone. And apparently the devil’s kid hit puberty in thirty seconds flat. Oh and tried to kill us.__ There’d been no reasoning with him. There never was when he was in this state. And yet this had seemed different to Sam. The devastation radiating from his brother had been so strong, so intense. Sam had never seen him this wrecked. He’d tried to reason with him but it had been useless. And when he’d asked about Cas…

“Do you think they’re hungry?” Jody’s voice broke through Sam’s unpleasant reverie. “You know I make a mean lasagna. I could whip one up if you think it’d help.”

“God, Jody, that’d be great. I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I just keep asking everybody if they want toast. Or mac and cheese. Or mac and cheese with toast. Dean dropped about a hundred f bombs and threw his boot at me when I offered that one.” Jody chuckled again and headed into the kitchen to assess the lasagna supplies. Sam watched her go with a profound sense of gratitude. There was nothing that spun Jody. She seemed to take everything and process it without it tearing her apart and yet Sam knew that life had dragged her through massive tragedy and trauma. But she’d walked through it like a warrior. Jody was strong. She was fierce. And Sam was so glad she was here.

 

**Dean**

The noises were still there. Dean could mostly push them out of his mind but they were still there. He wanted them to shut up. He wanted to go back to sleep. No, not sleep. Because sleep had __dreams__ and he sure as hell didn’t want those. No, he wanted to black out. He wanted to shut off his stupid brain that wouldn’t stop replaying this goddam horror show. Cas striding toward Lucifer. Sam pulling Dean through the portal. The terror he’d felt at leaving without him. The relief when he saw his familiar figure reappear. And then eyes and mouth burning with light. The scorched wing imprints on the ground. The way he’d __fallen.__

Dean fumbled along the nightstand next to his bed, groping for the glass of whiskey he’d left there last night. His hand bumped the glass clumsily, sending the heavy tumbler crashing to the ground. Dean clutched his head at noise. There was a tentative knock at the door.

“Dean?” Sam opened the door slowly, peering into the dark room. One of the advantages of living underground, the room could be dark 24/7 if Dean wanted. He was really appreciating that lately. 

“What?” he barked curtly. Sam winced. Dean sighed and softened his tone just a bit. “What, Sam?”

“I heard glass breaking. You okay?” Sam’s puppy dog face softened Dean further.  

“Yeah Sam, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Dean turned, trying to hide his face from the splash of light the open door threw across his bed, but it was no use. He’d might as well get up. Sam was gonna stand there with that concerned expression forever and besides, he needed to piss. Wearily he swung his legs out of the bed and pulled himself up. God, the hangover was intense. He felt like someone had put his brain in a blender. Abruptly he remembered Cas under the attack dog spell saying he felt like was inside a blender set to puree for a tomato salsa. __And you’re the tomato? In this analogy, yes.__ Dean’s breath suddenly choked him and he balled his hands to fists again. Sam noticed and took a step forward, hand outstretched. Dean brushed past him, roughly and Sam let him pass silently. Dean could feel his eyes on him all the way down the hall. Once in the bathroom, Dean relieved his aching bladder. When had been the last time he’d pissed for chrissake? He washed his hands and splashed water on his face, rubbing a wet hand over the back of his neck. Then he raised his eyes to the mirror and looked at the wreck he’d let himself become. Unbidden, another memory of Cas surfaced. Cas, unexpectedly, amazingly, back from Purgatory. Dean could see him, his muddy coat, his scruffy face. That beard. He remembered finding him in that hell, grabbing him, pulling him close. He remembered touching that beard softly. The relief he’d felt at finally finding him. The joy. Dean gripped the sink and stifled the howl rising in his chest. His hands tightened on the sink so hard he thought he might crush the porcelain. He could no longer meet his own eyes in the mirror. Outside of the door he heard a sound. He flung the door open.

“Goddamit Sam, I said I’m fi…” The sentence died in his mouth when he saw him. The kid. The reason for all this. The reason Cas was… Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hissed. The kid’s eyes widened.

“Nothing!” he gasped. “I was just… I was...” Dean shoved past him and vanished down the hallway. A few minutes later he reappeared, arm filled with bottles of beer. He didn’t even glance at Jack as he crossed into his room, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

**Jack**

Jack made his way cautiously down the long hallway. Until now, he hadn’t felt like leaving his room. At least he supposed it was his room. Sam had brought him to the room, explaining that it was probably a bit musty and needed a good airing out but it would do. He’d said a lot of things about sheets and getting some new clothes and where the bathroom was and the noise of it had washed over Jack like a wave. Sam had seemed to understand how overwhelmed he was and stopped explaining. In the end, he’d smiled somewhat sadly, shut the door, and then Jack had been alone. And he stayed in the room, his room, alone since then. But hearing Sam and Dean’s muffled voices in the hall had made him curious and he decided to venture out and see what was happening. He thought he might like to talk to Sam again. The tall, rangy hunter had been gentle with him and his eyes had been kind. As he passed the bathroom, the door suddenly banged open and there stood Dean, red eyed, reeking of whiskey, swaying a bit as he leaned menacingly toward Jack. Jack shrank back against the wall, dread gathering into a ball in his stomach.

“What the fuck do you want?” The words were slurred and angry and Dean’s terrifyingly cold eyes reminded Jack of their last bathroom conversation. __If I’m right and it comes to killing you, I’ll be the one to do it.__

Jack could barely whisper an answer.

“Nothing! I was just… I was...” He held his breath as Dean pushed past him towards the kitchen, returning moment later with an armful of beer bottles, staggering back down the hall to be swallowed up by his dark room. The loud crack of the slammed door made Jack flinch. He stood for several minutes, frozen in place, afraid to move in case Dean might reappear. When he was satisfied that Dean wasn’t coming back out, Jack ran lightly down the hallway back to his room. He closed the door and leaned against it, eyes closed, thinking again about his father. Not Lucifer. He felt no kinship, no connection to Lucifer. He was just a name. He still thought of Castiel as his father. It didn’t matter to him what anyone said. Castiel was the one he was connected to. He missed him. Even though they’d never really met. At least not face to face. Even so, Jack could still feel the connection like a tether. He sighed, and climbed onto the bed, arranging himself cross-legged atop the blankets. He slept very little so he’d spent most of his time in the room sitting like this, replaying these past few days, his first on earth. How he had just suddenly been awake, alive. The startling brutality of those initial few minutes, the gunshot, the fear, the way his power had exploded from him. Searching for Castiel, walking, meeting Clark and his mother, being stabbed by the angel. And then Sam’s kindness, Dean’s rage, meeting Donatello, being tricked by Asmodeus, almost opening a Hell Gate. It had all just been so much. And running through all of it, an insidious river of thought, _what am I?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Dean and Sam **

                It was a full day before Dean left his room again.  He found Sam sitting in the library talking on his cell phone.

                “Yeah, yeah I hear you.  Thank you, Jody.” 

                “What’s up?” Dean asked.  Sam let out a soft incredulous chuckle. 

                “You never believe this.  I got a call from Missouri Mosley.”

                “Wow. What’s it been? Like a decade?”

                “More”

“How is she?”

Sam continued talking but now Dean was picturing Missouri, herself.  That knowing smile of hers. He couldn’t help smile a bit himself thinking of how she’d threatened him with a wooden spoon if he put his feet on her table.  But now Sam was saying something about putting Jody on the case so they could stay and help the kid. Fucking fantastic.  Brilliant goddam plan Sam.  Let’s lose some more people we care about because of this little shit.  He shook his head as Sam insisted Jody could handle Missouri’s case.

“Yeah maybe she can. Or maybe she ends up dead because you wanted to skip out on her to babysit the Antichrist.”

Sam took a deep breath. 

“Dean, “he began, “We need him.  Mom…” But Dean was already shaking his head. 

“Don’t.” he said, spitting the words out like they were poisonous.  “If you wanna stay here and Mr. Miyagi this kid, knock yourself out.  I didn’t sign up for that.  So I’m gonna go to work.” And with that, Dean spun on his heel and left Sam sitting in the library, alone.

** Dean and Baby **

It felt good to be behind the wheel again.  Headed out on a case. Working.  Not sitting in his dark room, wallowing.  Dean took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar interior scent of his beloved car.  The Impala smelled like she always did, like leather and Armor-all, with just the faintest undertone of smoke that he had never been able to get rid of.  It must have been the countless times he and Sam had clambered into the long front seat, still reeking of smoke from a salt and burn job.  He’d stopped trying to get rid of the smell actually.  It was as much a part of Baby as the Legos in the vents or the army man in the ashtray.  Dean began to relax a bit.  He reached over and pushed play on the cassette player.  Immediately Robert Plant’s languorous voice slithered from the speakers. 

_This is the springtime of my loving-_  
the second season I am to know  
You are the sunlight in my growing-  
so little warmth I've felt before.

Oh it was a mistake.  Dean knew it as soon as he heard those words.  Something hard and painful welled up in his throat and the road before him became a blur.  Dean gasped and pressed a hand to his chest in a weak attempt to calm his panicked breath.  Shakily he pulled the Impala to the side of the road and put in in park.  The hard and painful thing in his throat seemed to be spreading.  Now he could feel it in his jaw and behind his eyes. He wrenched the door open and leaned far out, bracing himself on the door handle.  Dean retched hard, his stomach spasming as he coughed bile onto the gravel spread along the ground. Behind him the music was unrelenting.

_Speak to me only with your eyes_  
it is to you I give this tune.  
Ain't so hard to recognize-  
These things are clear to all from  
time to time.

Dean was shaking in earnest now, a full body tremor that had him helpless and frantic. He clawed at the door and the seat in a desperate attempt to calm himself. Because he was remembering again.  Remembering deciding to include this song on the mixtape for Cas.  He’d gone back and forth about including it. It was such a soft, vulnerable song and Dean had had to force himself not to erase it.  It had felt like giving Cas a bit of his soul.  He remembered giving Cas the tape. How shy he’d felt explaining what it was.  The way Cas’s face had lit up when he finally understood that Dean had made this just for him.  The howl was rising in Dean’s chest again and this time he didn’t have the strength to contain it.  Sobbing, he tumbled from the car, the gravel cutting into his palms as he hunched on his knees next to Baby’s open door.  He wept fiercely, calling Cas’s name over and over again. Faintly, from inside the Impala, the song drifted over him.

_I've felt the coldness of my winter_  
I never thought it would ever go  
I cursed the gloom that set upon us...  
But I know that I love you so  
but I know that I love you so.

 

** Sam and Jack **

                Jack had been very receptive to Kelly’s video and Sam felt a sense of relief.  The kid was so intense, Sam felt perpetually poised on the edge of flight or fight every minute he spent with him.  He supposed he couldn’t really blame the poor kid.  Whether or not he was the most powerful being on the planet, he was still only a week or so old.  Sam couldn’t imagine how confusing and frightening this all must be for him.  Nevertheless, he was basically a confused and frightened nuclear bomb and Sam wasn’t entirely certain he would be able to defuse him.  Now, in the kitchen he opened the refrigerator, pulled out Jody’s lasagna and looked at the post-it note fixed to the tinfoil covering the pan.

_Bake, covered, at 375° for 45 minutes. Uncover; bake 10-15 minutes longer or until cheese is melted. Make sure your brother eats. Make him eat. Love, Jody_

Not for the first, Sam thanked Chuck for Jody’s presence in their lives.  When Bobby had died, he and Dean had been adrift and Jody had stepped right into that surrogate parent role without hesitation.  Sam knew she loved them and they couldn’t do without her.  She’d agreed immediately to go help Missouri with the case and Sam was so grateful.  He really believed they needed to stay with Jack and help him through this transition, help him learn how to control those fearsome powers, maybe even learn how to be a human. He had known Dean wouldn’t be happy about this but he hadn’t expected him to refuse to even hear about Sam’s idea of Jack reopening the portal to save their mom.  Sam was worried about his brother.  The rage and fury were expected.  Dean expressed all unpleasant feelings as anger, Sam was well aware of that, but there was a cold, dead look in Dean’s eyes that gave Sam a sick feeling in his stomach.  He could feel this grief was different somehow.  Shaking his head to try to clear it, Sam flicked on the oven and stuck the pan inside.  He hoped he didn’t mess it up.  He was a shitty cook but he ought to be capable of heating up a lasagna.  He shut the oven, turned around and jumped back, crashing his hip into the oven door handle.  Jack was standing directly behind him.  The kid was a goddam ninja! How the hell had he gotten there without a sound? Sam palmed the counter to steady himself.

                “Is that food?” Jack blinked earnestly up at Sam and Sam smiled down at him.

                “Yup.  Jody made us a lasagna.”

                “What’s lasagna? Who’s Jody?” Jack’s innocent confusion was endearing and not for the first time since he’d met the kid, Sam was reminded of Cas. The head tilt was pure Castiel and Sam felt a pang of loss, looking at him.  Cas had been a good friend and Sam missed him. 

                “Lasagna is like a pasta casserole thing with cheese and tomato sauce,” explained Sam, well aware that this description would mean very little to Jack.  “And Jody is a friend of ours.  She’s kind of like a mom to Dean and me.”

                Jack’s face lit up a bit at the mention of a mom.  He reached out and touched Sam’s sleeve hesitantly. Sam smiled at him again.

                “Thank you, Sam,” Jack said, his eyes trained on Sam’s face.  “for the video.  The message from my mom.  She was beautiful, wasn’t she? And kind.  I could tell how kind she was.  She… said she…loved me. I think she meant it.  Don’t you, Sam? I think she did love me, right?” Sam felt a surge of compassion for Jack.  He knew what it felt like to only have the idea that your mother loved you.  To not have any memory of her mothering you, kissing your scraped knees, cutting the crusts off your PB&J, carrying your sleepy self to bed and kissing you good night.  For a moment, Jack and Sam stood together in the kitchen, feeling the loss of their respective mothers, a silent tableau of the grief of motherless sons.  Then Sam gave himself a little shake and recovered.

                “She loved you so much, Jack.  She did everything in her power to protect you.  She absolutely loved you.  More than anything.” Jack dropped his eyes to the floor, and quickly brushed the back of his hand across them. Sam gave his arm an encouraging squeeze.

                “Hey this is gonna take almost an hour to cook.  How about we go to the library and see if we can’t start getting a handle on those powers.”  Jack nodded and meekly followed Sam out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the library.

** Dean and Jody **

                Dean had been worried about seeing Missouri so soon after his roadside breakdown.  He had shoved as much of those feelings down deep and greeted both Missouri and Jody with a smile but Missouri had immediately remarked on his losses.  Dean had glossed over that comment quickly and Missouri hadn’t pushed, bless her.  Of course she was dealing with her own tragedy right now.  Her protégée’s death at the hands of a wraith was devastating enough but the idea that the monster was gunning for her son and granddaughter was clearly the foremost worry in Missouri’s mind.  Dean could still see her face as she implored him to rescue them.

_“You save my family, Dean Winchester.”_

And he would.  He would save James and Patience, because that’s what he did.  Saving people, hunting things, the family business and all that.  And he would do it without breaking down again.

                “Dean?” Jody was looking at him with a peculiar expression on her face.  He shook himself out of his reverie and responded.

                “What?” Jody looked pointedly at her outstretched hand. It was only then that Dean noticed she was holding a motel key out to him. 

                “Room key.  I’ve been trying to tell you that your room is ready for five minutes.” She took a step closer and peered searchingly into Dean’s face. “You doing okay, kiddo?”

                Jody’s compassionate expression was more than Dean could handle at the moment.  He took the key from her and turned away, shouldering his army green duffle.

                “I’m fine,” he muttered.  Jody laid a gentle hand on his arm. Oh god, this was too much. He couldn’t face Jody’s sympathy right now.  It would break him.  He nodded quickly and flashed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  Jody quirked her mouth sideways and seemed to be about to say something else.  _Don’t. Please don’t._ Dean begged her silently.  Jody took the hint and readjusted her features back to a down to business expression.

                “Okay, kiddo.  Let’s get some sleep and we’ll head for James and Patience first thing in the morning.”  Dean closed his eyes and wondered not for the first time how he and Sam had gotten so lucky to have this woman in their life.

                The night was interminable.  Dean couldn’t sleep no matter how much whiskey he downed.  Unwelcome memories swirled around him and just as soon as he was able to tamp one down, another would break free and rise up, clutching him by the throat. Most of them were just images.  Cas walking into the barn years ago, all sparks and wind and flyaway black hair.  Cas tilting his head because he didn’t understand the boys’ pop culture references. Cas choking out a goodbye speech after Ramiel stabbed him with Michael’s lance.  Ah, that last one.  Dean tipped the last of the whiskey into his plastic motel cup.  Throwing his head back, he downed the cup in seconds.  He looked at the empty bottle for a moment before hurling as hard as he could against the wall.  Then he fell, face first onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow, screaming with rage and sorrow and desperation. He screamed until he had no breath left and then fell into a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep.  

                Jody asked him no questions the nest morning.  Just silently tossed her duffle into the back seat of the Impala and settled herself in the front.  Dean looked levelly at her.

                “Thanks, Jody.” He dropped his eyes to Baby’s dash, noting that they’d need to stop for gas before heading to James and Patience. 

                “No problem,” Jody was easy.  Dean sighed in relief and headed for the nearest gas station. 

****

** Sam **

                Sam was pleased with himself for setting up the cameras so he could keep an eye on Jack but not crowd him too much.  The kid was definitely scary but there was an innocence to him that gave Sam a somewhat paternal feeling toward him.  He watched Jack concentrating on the task Sam had given him.

                “Move the pencil,” he’d said and Jack had sat down immediately, and directed a laser stare at the object, seeming determined to fulfill Sam’s request.  Now through the laptop screen, Sam observed him still sitting at the table, blue eyes fixed hard on that pencil, brow wrinkled with the effort of his fierce attention.  Again, Sam considered how fitting it was that Jack considered Castiel his father.  They really were so alike.  Their mannerism, speech, movements, even their facial expressions all so damn similar.  No wonder Dean couldn’t even stand to look at the kid.  If it was a painful reminder to Sam, it must be like a knife in Dean’s heart to see him cock his head to the side like or squint in confusion at a remark from one of them.  It was probably a good thing that Dean had gone to help Jody with Missouri’s case.  Not because Jody needed him, she was more than capable of handling it on her own.  No, Sam was glad Dean was with Jody because she was exactly the person he needed right now.  Maybe he’d even talk to her, Sam thought wistfully.  He certainly seemed to have no intention of talking to Sam.  It hurt him when Dean shut him out like this but Sam understood.  Some things were so big, so devastating that saying them aloud could break the fragile shell around Dean’s heart.  Sam knew that and so he would wait.  He owed Dean that. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

** Dean and Jody **

                Dean and Jody drove in silence for miles before Jody broke the quiet. 

                “I’m sorry about Missouri, Dean.” Jody’s brown eyes were warm and sympathetic. “I guess you’d known her a long time, huh?”

                “A decade at least,” Dean answered.  Hearing of Missouri’s death on the news at the gas station had shocked him less than he would have thought.  There had been something in the way she’d said goodbye after imploring him to save her family.  Like she’d _known_. Dean let out a soft chuckle.  Of course, she’d known.  Missouri had been possibly the most gifted psychic he’d ever met.  And she’d sacrificed herself to save the ones she loved.  Suddenly he found himself growing angry at her.

                “What a fucking waste,” he spat bitterly.  “We could’ve saved her.  She didn’t have to be all goddam _noble_. What a stupid decision. She didn’t have to die. There was no reason for this shit.” Dean punched the steering wheel in frustration. 

“Easy, kiddo,” Jody laid a soft hand on Dean’s shoulder. She felt a shudder go through the hunter’s body. She could tell Dean was holding himself together with mental duct tape and it was hard to see him this broken.  Dean shook his head and Jody felt that she could see him begin to force himself to adopt his usual tough veneer.  “Remember, if you ever need to talk...”

“I can’t, Jody,” Dean turned his green eyes to her and Jody bit back a gasp at the agony she saw in them. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said.  “Any time at all, Dean. I mean it.”

Dean’s smile was sad and Jody’s heart broke at little at the sight.  She’d come to love these hunter boys as her own.  Like all hunters, they were fierce and violent when need be, but there was a vulnerability to them that had touched Jody’s mother’s heart.  Those motherless boys had cut straight through the softest part of her and she ached, seeing one of them in this much pain.  She wanted to demand that Dean pull the car over immediately and hold him until he’d cried himself out but she knew that Dean wouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to break in front of anyone.  She squeezed his shoulder again and Dean let out a soft, quavering breath. 

“I think that’s our exit,” she said.  Dean knew it was a gift.  He nodded brusquely. 

“Yep,” he replied. “Time to get our game faces on.  Too bad Sam’s not here. He’d give them those puppy eyes of his and they’d follow him anywhere. I have a feeling if Missouri’s son and granddaughter are anything like her, we’re in for some stubbornness.”

“Well, I’m stubborn as the day is long so let’s go save Missouri’s family,” Jody smirked.  Dean shot her a small quick grin as he pulled the Impala onto the off ramp, toward James and Patience and the danger that was coming for them.

 

** Jack **

                Jack had really tried to do what Sam asked of him and move the pencil.  He’d stared at the thing for what seemed like days but he had no idea how to make it move. 

“Sam will be disappointed in me,” he whispered to himself.  He hated the idea of disappointing Sam.  Sam, who had been so _nice_ to him.  He’d given Jack the video of his mom and he’d given him a room and he when he spoke to Jack his words and voice were kind and soothing.  He was so different from his brother.  Dean terrified Jack.  He knew Dean considered him a monster. And Dean killed monsters.  He felt certain that if Dean had any idea how to kill him, Jack would have been salted and burned days ago. And what’s burned stays dead.  Thinking about Dean made Jack nervous and uncomfortable.  He tried again to focus on moving the pencil for Sam, but truthfully, he had no idea where to even start.  Staring at it didn’t seem to do anything.  He’d tried muttering “ _move_ ” at it but that didn’t work either.  He was out of ideas.  It seemed like such a simple task.  These powers of his were fickle it appeared.  When he’d been frightened, they’d seemed to flow out of him without even a thought.  But now when he wanted them, nothing.  He could fling a person across a room but he couldn’t move a stupid pencil even a millimeter.  Maybe Dean was right.  Maybe he couldn’t ever do anything good with his powers.  Maybe he was a monster, after all.  Suddenly he grabbed the pencil and hurled it across the room.  He watched as it hit the floor and skittered away into the corner.  _There_ , he thought, bitterly, _I moved it_.  For a long minute, he sat there, glaring at the pencil in the corner, then he sighed, the fight draining from him.  Wearily, he pushed himself away from the table and crossed the room.  He sat down in the corner, next to the pencil and dropped his head to his knees. The next thing he knew, Sam’s heavy footsteps were echoing in the hall and he could hear Sam shouting his name.  The hunter fairly flew into the room, his eyes wide and his voice thick with panic.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“I moved the pencil,” Jack replied sarcastically. He held it up as proof.  Sam began to breathe easier.

“Okay look, I know this isn’t exactly fun…” he began.  Jack cut him off.

“No. It’s the opposite of fun.”

“Okay,” Sam acquiesced.  “But why is it so hard? I’ve seen you throw people across the room.  I’ve been thrown across the room by you.  I’ve seen you open a Gate to Hell.  And now nothing? It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Jack could feel the confusion and fear coming from Sam and suddenly he thought to himself.  This is how people will always see me.  This is what I am.  A monster.  Evil. 

“It’d make sense if I’m evil,” he said in a small voice, unable to meet Sam’s eyes.

“What?”

“Just go. Please,” he begged Sam.

“No, Jack,” Sam said and the compassion in his voice made Jack’s chest ache. “Why do you think you’re evil? Because when I look at you, that’s not what I see.”

“Yeah, well Dean sees it,” Jack snapped. “That’s why he says… He said he’d kill me.”

“He what?’

“And maybe he should,” Jack continued, “Mom said I could be good, that I had the choice to be good.  That it was up to me. But she’s dead because of me.  I’ve only been on Earth for a few days and I’ve already hurt people.  I’ve already done bad things. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t do the one good stupid thing you want me to.  So I must be evil.  Like Lucifer.”

“Jack, listen,” Sam crouched down next to him.  “Asmodeus tricking you, Dean… None of that is your fault.  I think that after everything that’s happened, you’re probably scared to use your power.  And me pressuring you certainly isn’t helping.”

“Really?” Jack looked up at Sam.  A tiny finger of relief began to creep into his mind. 

“Really,” Sam answered.  “What do you say we call it?  At least until I figure out a better way.  How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” Jack replied, tentatively. 

“Good.  C’mon.” Sam reached a large hand out to Jack and pulled him to his feet. He flashed a sympathetic smile.

“Sam,” Jack looked curiously at the tall, flannel clad figure in front of him.  “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“Because I know what it feels like to not belong. To feel like there’s this darkness inside of you. To be scared of who you are, what you can do. Dean, Cas, my family helped me through that.  So know I want to help you. Because you are not evil, Jack.”  And with that Sam turned and strode from the room, leaving Jack staring after him, silently considering all that had been said.

 

** Dean **

                All the way home, Dean considered the different advice he and Jody had given to Patience.  The girl was gifted, there was no doubt about that, but look what being a gifted psychic had done for Missouri.  Murdered by a wraith.  An ignoble end, he thought.  If she hadn’t been in the life, she probably be safe and sound right now, still on good terms with her son, able to be a doting grandma to Patience.  He shook his head thinking of all the crap he’d seen this hunter’s life dole out to so many people over the years, of all the people he’d watched die.  Pamela.  Jo and Ellen. Rufus. Bobby. Kevin. Charlie. In his head his envisioned a different life for each of them.  He saw Pamela managing a rock and roll band.  Ellen and Jo running a regular bar without a hunter clientele.  Rufus a grumpy old curmudgeon, hollering at kids to stay off his lawn.  Bobby puttering around his salvage yard, fixing classic cars.  Charlie gleefully hacking video games and distributing them to the masses for free.  If only, he thought to himself.  Patience should take his advice and get as far away from this shit as possible. So should Jody, come to think of it.  She ought to go back to Sioux Falls and lock Claire and Alex in their rooms and refuse to let them out until they agreed to stay out of this life forever. Fat chance of that happening, he knew.  Jody would hunt and Claire would hunt and Alex would get dragged into it and pretty soon he’d be standing by a funeral pyre watching them go up in smoke, just like…

                “No,” Dean said, aloud. He wasn’t going to do this again.  He wasn’t going to break down every time he was alone.  He was going to keep it together, goddamit.  Even if it meant he never said his name again. Never pictured his blue eyes and the way they’d cut straight through him.  Never thought about how it felt in his stomach when he’d stood close. Dean could feel his heart begin to race and there was a buzzing in his head as he tried to force himself to stop picturing him.  Stop remembering him.  Stop.

                “Stop,” he whispered. “Please stop.”  He swallowed hard and gripped Baby’s steering wheel until his fingers were white.  He could do this. He’d had years of practice at shoving his feelings down.  He’d done it for years as a child, as a teenager and even as a young man.  His father had made it clear that he was to keep this kind of shit to himself.  John Winchester had not been a man who had an interest in any grief but his own.  And Dean had learned to fold his pain into a tiny package and bury it deep inside his mind.  And he was trying now.  Trying so hard to push him away, to forget.  But Castiel would not leave him, no matter how deep he tried to bury him. 

                Before long, Dean found himself on the familiar streets of Lebanon, Kansas.  Soon he would be at the bunker.  Dean was determined to get a grip on himself before he got home.  There was no way he was going to allow himself to let any of this out around Sam.  He didn’t even know where he would begin to explain this.  No, better to let Sam assume they were mourning their mother and Cas in the same way.  To just let him be another one of their dead, no different from the rest of the friends and family they’d lost. He could never explain to Sam how different losing Cas felt.  How it felt like he’d never really be able to breathe again. How just hearing his name sent a dart of pain through him that he felt all the way down his spine.  He could never explain it so he wasn’t going to try.  He was going to go home and swallow this and continue on. 

                He was calm by the time he was guiding Baby into the bunker’s garage.  Calm and resolute.  He’d go inside and talk to Sam.  And then he’d take a bottle of whiskey to his room and drink until he passed out and all of these feelings would go away.

 

** Sam, Dean, and Jack **

                Sam had known confronting Dean about what he’d said to Jack would probably lead to a fight.  He had sat up at the map table planning out what he was going to say to him, how he would plead Jack’s case. But he’d been unprepared for the pain he could hear in his brother’s voice as he shouted that Sam deserved to be saved but Jack didn’t.  It wasn’t until Dean mentioned Cas that a revelation began to dawn on Sam.  Perhaps they were not grieving the same person.  All this time, Sam’s grief had been focused on their mother and he had assumed Dean had felt the same way.  Not that he hadn’t felt the loss of Castiel. He had, of course.  Cas had been a good friend, their best friend and losing him had hurt terribly but in Sam’s mind it had been overshadowed by Mary’s plight.  He had mourned Cas in much the same way he had mourned Charlie.  But as Dean stood in front of him screaming, rage and pain and loss pouring off of him, a memory surfaced in Sam’s mind.  Cas, years ago, responding to Dean’s call in a millisecond, after Sam had spent months trying to contact him. 

                “Dean and I do share a more profound bond,” the angel had said and Sam had thought he’d understood.  Now he was beginning to think he didn’t understand anything at all.

                Dean had really tried to stick to the plan he’d made in the garage.  Come in, talk to Sam for a minute and go straight to his room, but Sam had roped him into a confrontation about the damn kid before he knew it.  Turned out the kid had had taken their little talk to heart and Dean’s comment about being the one to kill him if need be hadn’t gone over in the best way.  And then Sam was talking about himself, how he’d once been the freak, the monster, how Dean had saved him and Dean had tried to keep calm but before he knew what was happening, he was striding towards Sam, and words were spilling out of him.  Words about Cas.  He watched himself in horror as he screamed at Sam.

                “He manipulated him.  He made him promises.  Said Paradise on Earth.  And Cas bought it.  And what did it get him? It got him dead.  Now you may be able to forget about that, but I CAN’T!” Dean saw Sam’s eyes narrow a bit and he felt a stab of panic.  He was letting too much out, saying too much.  Dean clenched his hands into fists and exerted every bit of self-control he had to pull himself to together.  He looked away from Sam, determined to tamp these emotions down.  He was afraid he’d already said too much.

                In the hallway, Jack listened as the brothers shouted at each other.  Sam’s voice was low and measured as he tried to reason with Dean.  Dean’s responses seemed to drip with venom and hate.  Jack shivered, hearing Dean accuse Sam of wanting to use him and pretending to care.  Was that true? Was Sam only pretending to care? Was his kindness an act? And then he heard Dean shout his father’s name.  Jack was startled to hear how laden with pain Dean’s voice sounded.  He could do nothing but stand there, listening as the argument came to a head.  He wished for thousandth time that someone could help him, guide him.  He was lost and confused and the brothers’ yelling frightened him.  Desperately he looked up and whispered a name.

                “ _Castiel._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

** Cas **

                Cas woke with a start.  His intense blue eyes tried unsuccessfully to focus on his surroundings but there was nothing to fix on.  He seemed to be lying in the middle of a great black nothingness.  Slowly he pushed himself to his feet looking around him in confusion. Where was he? He tried to think of the last thing remembered before waking up in this place, whatever it was.  Kelly had been in labor.  Right, Kelly had been in labor and Lucifer had found them.  And they had made a plan, he and Sam and Dean and Crowley.  A plan to trap Lucifer on the other side of the rift.  He remembered rushing through the rift. He remembered hearing Dean call his name behind him as he charged Lucifer, stabbing him with his angel blade.  And then he’d gone back through.  There was a glimpse of Dean’s green eyes widening in shock and fear and then nothing.  What had happened? And where in the world was he?

                “Hello?” Cas ventured, cautiously.  He wasn’t sure if he should call attention to himself here, in this place.  There was no answer.  He walked a few steps but the deep black emptiness seemed to go on forever in every direction and he wasn’t sure if he should be walking or standing still or just what he should be doing, so he just kept walking forward.  He’d never felt quite so uncertain in his life and a deep in his stomach he felt a flicker of panic take hold. 

                “Hello?” he called out again, louder this time.  The flicker began to grow steadily into a flame that raced down his bones.  “Hello? Hello?”  Behind him, a ripple pulsed across the inky darkness.  Castiel didn’t notice the ripple, nor did he see when the ripple pulsed again, stronger this time and a shape like an arm rose out of it.  The pool of darkness continued to pulse and writhe as it rose up, slowly forming a humanoid body.  The creature turned its faceless visage toward the angel.  Cas felt a chill go down his spine and spread across the bones of his hidden wings.  Suddenly, he was certain he was no longer alone. 

                “I know you’re there.  I can feel you,” he said, desperately trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

                “Hello.” The sound came from behind him and Cas turned to see an exact copy of himself staring at him with an air of befuddled hostility. A thousand questions swirled in his mind and Cas selected the one that seemed the most pressing.

                “What are you?” he asked.

                “Oh I’m just your friendly, neighborhood cosmic entity,” replied the doppelganger.  A vaguely menacing smile spread across its face as it explained that it had taken on Cas’s form because its own would be too terrifying to behold.  Cas could feel the air growing heavier with barely restrained enmity as he pressed the entity for answers as to the nature of this place. 

                “Before God and Amara, creation, destruction, heaven, hell, your precious little Earth, what was there?” sneered the creature.

                “Nothing,” Cas answered.  A sort of realization was beginning to grow in his mind.

                “Yes.  That’s right,” replied the entity with another of those unsettling grins.  “Nothing but Empty.  And you are soaking in it.”

                Cas was only half listening as his creepy double explained how all angels and demons came here when they died.  _Gabriel is here_ , he thought.  _Hannah, Hael, Inais_.  The dozens of angels’ names and faces flitted through his mind.  _They’re all here_ , he thought.  Sleeping it seemed, if the entity was to be believed.  And it seemed believable.  Or it least the barely contained fury that was radiating from the entity was definitely believable. It appeared Castiel had woken it up and now it was demanding an explanation.

                “Why are you awake?” The creature stepped closer to Cas and it was only with effort that he kept from shivering at its proximity.  “Because, fun fact, in all of forever, nothing ever wakes up here. And, second fun fact, when you woke up, I woke up and I don’t like being awake.  So what’s up, smart guy?” The seething resentment fairly poured from the creature now and Castiel wracked his brain trying to find an answer to the question. 

                “The Winchesters,” he began. “They must have made a deal.”  As he spoke, several feeling began warring within him.  Had Sam and Dean done this? And if they had, why? Perhaps they were in trouble.  He gasped a bit at the idea that the brothers might be in danger and he had no way of helping them.  Terrible visions began to crowd into his mind.  Sam and Dean, injured, maybe dead.  Sam’s long body broken, his thick brown hair, matted with blood.  Terror began to creep slowly across his skin.  The idea of Sam hurt, was a stab of pain.  Then his traitorous mind assembled a picture of _Dean_.  Dean, wounded, his beloved face twisted in pain. Dean dying, the life draining from his beautiful eyes. Castiel’s heart was pounding.  And the entity was still talking, still demanding answers.

                “I don’t know,” he gasped.

                “Wrack that perky little brain of yours,” the creature hissed.

                “Stay away from me.”

                “Alright,” it replied.  “I’ll wrack it for you.” His double slammed its hand down over Castiel’s forehead and Cas screamed in pain and dropped to his knees.  He could actually feel long fingers dig through his brain.  Desperately he scrambled to hide his most precious, most private thoughts, but he could feel those snaking, sneaking digits prying open every hidden corner of his mind. Every shameful failure, every cherished moment, every secret desire laid bare to this invader. When it finally retreated, Castiel was left a broken rag doll, gasping on his hands and knees.

                “What did..?” he panted. “What did you do to me?”

                “I read your mind, such as it is,” the entity replied, disdainfully. 

                “What do you want?” Cas asked wearily.  The entity fairly rippled with anger.  Cas tried desperately to get his bearing as it explained that Cas staying awake meant it had to stay awake and it _did not_ want to stay awake.  At once, Cas saw a way out of this horror show.

                “Send me back to Earth,” he said, fully meeting the creature’s eyes for the first time.  And for the first time, Cas saw uncertainly there. 

                “Or I throw you so deep into the Empty that you can’t bother me anymore,” it spat, lips curling into a sneer. Cas began to feel a small finger of hope worm its way into his heart.

                “Except you know that won’t work or you would have done it already.” He raised his chin defiantly.  The creature seethed with rage.  And now Cas knew that no matter what else happened here, he would never give up.  He would demand that this cosmic entity, whatever it was, send him back.  He would fight forever if he had to.  He thought of home, of his friends, his family. He thought of Dean.  He’d known for a long time what Dean meant to him.  He knew that while he thought of all of the Winchesters as his family, his feelings for Sam and Mary were not the same as his feelings for Dean.  His feelings for Dean were not brotherly.  Even now, just thinking of him sent electricity racing along his nerves, filling his belly with fire. 

                “Sam and Dean need me,” he said, his voice steel in the darkness. He was careful to include Sam.  If this entity hadn’t discovered his feelings for Dean, he had no intention of spelling it out.

                “Oh save it,” the creature sneered. “I have tiptoed through all your little tulips. Your memories, your little feelings, yes? I know what you hate. I know who you love and what you fear. There is nothing back there for you.”  Cas felt his heart drop to his feet at the mention of who he loved and what he feared.  So he hadn’t been able to hide it after all.  And it was like an iron band around his chest to hear the entity say there was nothing back there for him.  Oh, it was good alright.  It had reached into the most secret parts of his mind and plucked out those thoughts as easily as picking an apple from a tree.  And now it presented him with those secret haunts, neatly polished and sharpened into a weapon to cut him down.  The entity grasped Castiel’s head and his mind was flooded with images and memories.  All of the worst things he could remember, losing his grace to Metatron, opening Purgatory, drowning in the reservoir.  More and more horrible memories flowed from the creature’s fingers into his mind.  Until the last thing he saw was Dean’s hands gently rolling him over after he’d nearly died trying to return the souls to Purgatory.  That was a mistake on the entity’s part.  Because then he remembered promising Dean he’d make it up to him.  He remember when he’d been lost and confused as Emmanuel and Dean had found him and brought him back.  And he remembered that Dean had kept the trench coat, in case he’d come back.  He remembered that Dean had hoped he’d come back.  He gritted his teeth and tried to stand.

                “Come on Castiel, wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?” The entity delivered a sharp kick to his midsection and then began to try to coax him back to sleep.  Castiel closed his eyes.  He pictured Dean.  He pictured him laughing, the way he threw his head back, the little star lines that appeared at the corners of his eyes.  He pictured him fighting, his jaw a sharp line of determined bone, eyes like green fire. He pictured all the times they’d stared at each other, minutes without sound, moments in which each seemed to be desperately trying to speak without actually using words. 

                “Save yourself,” the entity beseeched him.  Castiel pulled every memory of Dean he had to him and wrapped them around himself like armor.

                “I’m already saved.” This time he didn’t even feel the entity’s kick.  “And you can prance and you can preen, and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow I’m awake.  And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane.” The entity struck him hard across the face but Castiel focused his thoughts on Dean, his face, his hands, the long line of his back, the way his legs bowed. He pushed himself to his feet.  “I will fight you and fight you and fight you forever. For eternity.”

                “No,” the entity grimaced in horror as Castiel stepped closer and closer until they were nearly nose to nose.

                “Release me,” Castiel crowded right into the entity’s space.  He was no longer afraid.  He focused his mind to one single thought, a light that flung itself into every corner of his mind, banishing the dark. _Dean._ “Release me!”

               

** Sam **

                On second thought maybe a case involving a therapist who dealt with losing loved ones was a little too close to home.  Things had gotten altogether too real in Mia Vallens office and Sam was still reeling from what had gone down.  He hadn’t meant to actually get into their real family issues.  He hadn’t meant to really talk about their mom and what it meant to him to lose her but when Mia had started to ask questions, it had just started to bubble over and spill out of his mouth before he realized what was happening.  Dean’s sarcasm and snark had been a like a spark to dry kindling inside him and Sam had just finally had _enough_.  His pain and rage had just exploded out of him and he’d said things he hadn’t intended to reveal.  It had been painful for everyone involved and Sam honestly wished they’d never even heard about the damn case.  And the conversation he and Dean had when it was over was possibly even more disturbing. 

                “I need you to keep the faith for both of us,” Dean had said, his eyes flashing with pain.  And Sam had agreed.  But at what cost? Could he actually do it? Could he bury his own pain and sorrow deep enough to carry them both? For a moment, Sam felt a hard, ugly ball of resentment rise in his chest.  _Why?_   Why did he have to be the one to carry them? He wanted to hole up in his room and drink and listen to angry, angst filled music and slam doors and bite everyone’s head off, too.  He wanted Dean to console him like he had when they were young and Dad had been late coming home from a hunt.  He wanted Dean’s swagger and bravado and cocksure smart asserey.  Sam folded his arms on the table and dropped his head into them.  Losing their mom and Cas had broken them both and he was beginning to wonder if they’d ever come back from it.  Sam rested there, with his head pillowed on his arms, his face buried in his flannel sleeves and took several long, shuddering breaths.   Then he raised his head, wiped his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

                The phone rang three times and Sam was about to hang up when Jody finally answered blearily.

 

                “Sam?” She sounded confused and worried and exhausted.  “What time is it? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Do you need help?”

                “It’s late.  I’m really sorry, Jody, but I didn’t know who else to call.” Sam fidgeted with the edge of the book laying on the table in front of him.

                “S’ok.  What’s up? Is it a hunt? You guys need help with a hunt?” Jody’s voice was still heavy with sleep and Sam felt a sharp twinge of guilt for waking her up with his personal problems. 

                “No. Not a hunt.  It’s… I guess it’s…” Now that he was speaking to her, Sam began to feel foolish for calling her about something like this.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to explain.

                “Is it about your mom, hon?” Sam sighed softly with gratitude. Maybe Jody could help after all. Maybe he wasn’t a giant, idiot baby for calling her.

                “Um, yeah, kind of,” he answered.  And then it all came pouring out.  The horror show “therapy” session, the conversation with Dean, the panic and resentment he felt about being asked to be the one to shoulder it all.

                “What do I do, Jody?” he begged her. “I don’t know what to do? He in so much pain and I’m a mess too.  How are we gonna make it through this?  How do I keep the faith? I’m not sure I have any faith either. What do I do?” He could feel the edge of panic begin to creep up on him and he gripped the table hard in an effort to ground himself.

                “Fake it.” Jody’s voice was grim but resolute and Sam could feel the tendrils of panic begin to loosen slightly.

                “What?” he asked. “What do you mean, fake it?”

                “Exactly that.  Fake it. Pretend to have faith.  At least for a little while.  Sometimes you have to.”

                “Is that fair, Jody?” Sam ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. “I lost mom too.  I lost Cas, too.”

                “Of course it’s not fair, Sam.  Who said it was fair? But it’s a thing we do when we love somebody and they tell us they need us to carry them for a while.”

                “Like when we call somebody in the middle of the night because we’re sinking and need a life preserver?” Sam smiled and he could feel Jody’s answering smile all the way from Sioux Falls.

                “Like that, Sam.”

                “Love you, Jodes.”

                “Love you, too, Sam.  Call anytime. I mean it.”

 

** Cas **

The first thing that struck him was how bright it was.  The startling brightness was so completely different from the strange, inky darkness of the Empty that Cas was momentarily dizzy.  He lay motionless, just feeling the warmth of the sun touching his skin, the press of plants and lumps of soil against his back.  He smiled to himself.  He was back.  He’d won. His long fingers dug into the earth and he reveled in the feel of it. Still smiling, he pushed himself to his feet.  He seemed to be in some sort of field.  Blackberry bushes grew in wild untamed tangles around him and tall prairie grass waved slowly, blown by a lazy breeze that curled through his hair tickling his scalp.  Cas felt a strand of joy rise through him, growing stronger as it filled his chest. He took a deep breath and turned to the sun, letting it wash across his face. _Now_ , he thought, _I need to find Dean._  

                It took at least an hour for him to find a road. And it wasn’t much of a road.  Just a dusty track really, snaking through the brambly field but it was a start. Not for the first time, Castiel bemoaned the state of his wings. What he would give to leap up into the air, unfurl them and fly out of this field.  Cas shook his head at himself.  _So greedy_ , he thought. With a small scoff, he began to walk.

                It seemed like ages before Cas reached a larger road.  He looked around him, trying to get some sense of where he was.  How far was the bunker from here, he wondered.  And how could he get there? He searched for something that would tell him where he was.  He continued to walk along the highway, hoping he was at least headed in the right direction.  Finally he spotted a sign emblazoned with the names of cities and miles.  Hastings 161 miles it said.  Omaha 50 miles.  _Hastings and Omaha_ , he thought to himself. _I’m in Nebraska_.  He felt a surge of delight. Nebraska was so close to Lebanon, Kansas.  Now he just needed to figure out how to get there.  Searching his memories, he remembered Sam telling him about a time he and Dean had a fight and how Sam had decided to hitchhike to California. Right, hitchhiking.  Hoping he was doing it correctly, Cas stuck his thumb out and began to walk backwards, trying to catch the eye of one of the people speeding alongside him.

                It took ages, and Cas was on the verge of giving up when finally a beat up Honda pulled over skittering gravel over the top of his shoes. Cas peered in the passenger window.  Inside was a girl about the same age as Claire.  She flashed him a grin. 

                “Where you headed, Constantine?” she quipped.  Cas was slightly taken aback and gaped at her for a moment before regaining his power of speech.

                “Lebanon, Kansas,” he replied.  “But I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.  My name isn’t Constantine.”

                The girl threw her head back and pealed with laughter.  Cas had a sudden flash of memory. When he laughed, Dean often threw his head back the same way.  He closed his eyes and pictured him.  The way he would wrap an arm around his waist and double over, the little lines that crinkled his eyes into stars.  Cas felt a stab of longing so intense he nearly gasped aloud. When he opened his eyes, the girl was looking at him curiously. 

                “Sorry,” he said. “Are you going anywhere near Lebanon?”

                “I can get you to Hastings,” she replied.  “It’s not far from there to Lebanon. Hop in, John.” Cas opened the door and settled himself in the passenger seat.

                “My name isn’t John, either,” he said, buckling the belt across himself. 

                “No shit, Sherlock,” laughed the girl.  “Don’t tell me. Sherlock isn’t your name either.” Cas began to realize she was teasing him. 

                “No.  Not Sherlock either,” he answered, shyly trying to match her playful tone. “But at least I know who that one is.”  It seemed that was the right move.  She grinned as she steered the car back onto the highway.

                “Let me tell you about John Constantine, then.  Brother, you are in for a treat.” Cas smiled at her.

                “I’m Castiel,”

                “Nora.” She stuck her hand out and Cas took it. “So John Constantine is from a series of comic books.  Well graphic novels, really…”  Cas leaned back in the seat and let Nora’s voice wash over him as she told him the story of a world weary, chain smoking, bisexual demonologist. 

                “…and so that’s how John managed to get the angels and God to cure his cancer.  And you aren’t listening to me at all are you?” Nora laughed as Cas attempted to deny her accusation.

                “No, I was, mostly, actually, this story is weirdly sort of relatable. It’s just, well, I admit, my mind is elsewhere right now.”

                “Okay, first of all, it’s bizarre as hell that you find Constantine relatable and b. where is your mind that this frickin amazing ass story is not holding your attention? Is it in Lebanon, Kansas?”

                Cas smiled slowly. 

                “Oh!” Nora’s eyes lit up.  “What’s her name?”

                Cas chuckled.

“Dean,” he said. Nora’s giant grin seemed to widen by inches.

“Tell me absolutely everything,” she demanded.

“It’s quite a long story,” Cas was hesitant. 

“Please?” Nora’s smile was infectious and Cas suddenly found himself telling her all about Dean. Not everything, of course, but a surprising amount, actually.  Before he quite knew what was happening, he was describing the exact shade of Dean’s green eyes and just how the freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks looked.  Their story spilled out of his mouth like water and Cas was shocked at how gratifying it felt to tell it.  How amazing it felt saying the words aloud.  Explaining how much he loved Dean and why.  Nora listened, enraptured, her eyes wide with delight, her mouth a perfect round O of exhilaration.  He talked and talked and told her almost everything. He left out the parts of the story he knew she wouldn’t believe, his species for one and his recent demise and Dean’s particular profession but when it came to his feelings for Dean, he held nothing back.  Maybe it was because she was a stranger, maybe because he was fairly certain that once the parted ways in Hastings, he’d never see her again, he didn’t know.  All he knew was that telling Nora was the most freeing thing he’d ever done and when he’d finally finished he felt lighter.  He felt the way he used to when he could stretch his wings wide and coast through the air.  He could almost feel the wind slide through his feathers. He sighed and Nora sighed at the same moment. They looked at each other and began to laugh.

“Have you ever told anyone else all of that?” Nora asked gently.  Suddenly shy, Cas shook his head.  Nora turned her spotlight of a smile on him again.

“Well it was beautiful.” She reached across the center console and squeezed his arm. “How much of that does Dean know?” Cas bit his lip and looked out the window.

“None,” he whispered. Nora tsked a disapproving noise at him.

“Oh Castiel,” she said. “You idiot. Fuck Hastings. I’m taking you all the way to Lebanon and you’re gonna tell him everything.” Cas’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Nora pressed down hard on the gas and the car gave a creaking lurch before speeding, rattletrap down the highway towards, Lebanon, the bunker and the home of Castiel’s heart.

 


	5. Chapter 5

** Sam **

Sam Winchester was a man of his word.  He had told Jody that he would fake it when it came to faith and carry his brother and that’s exactly what he was doing.  It had taken him a few days but he’d finally found a case for them. One kid missing and another found wandering down the road bleeding from the head and only able to say one thing: _monster_.  Definitely their kind of thing.  Sam had even set Jack up with a crap ton of DVDs to keep him busy so he and Dean could go on the hunt by themselves.  Dean had warmed to Jack considerably after he’d saved their asses from Mia Vallen’s crazy shapeshifter ex-boyfriend but Sam thought Dean would be happier if it was just the two of them and Baby just like the good old days.  Okay so maybe the old days weren’t really that good but that was just the kind of thought that Sam was going to push all the way to the back of his mind, lock in a box, bury in concrete and sink to the bottom of the fucking ocean.  For now, he was going to make this hunt as pleasant for Dean as possible and if that meant beer for breakfast and reading reviews of some god-awful strip club with the mind-blowingly offensive name of the Clamdiver, that’s what he was going to do.  And for a while, it seemed like it was going okay.  He’d even let Dean use Agent Page as his alias when they went to speak to the boy’s mother.  But apparently he’d been a little too obvious because now they were standing outside the Royal Towers Hotel and Dean was squinting suspiciously at him.  Maybe telling him how many stars the Clamdiver had was a bridge too far.  Maybe it was the chili fries he’d ordered at lunch.  Whatever it was, it seemed that Dean was on to him. 

“What is it? Is it my birthday? Did I win a bet I didn’t know about?” Dean looked at him warily and Sam dropped his eyes to the pavement.

“I’m just trying to be nice,” he mumbled.  Dean glared at him balefully.

“Why?”

Sam took a deep breath and answered cautiously.

“You know why.”

Dean glare intensified.

“I’m fine.” He strode toward the glass doors, waving at them in irritated frustration to see if they were automatic before jerking them open and stomping over to the front desk. Sam followed trying desperately to explain, but Dean was done listening.

“I’ve been down this road before and I’ve fought my way back and I will fight my way back again.”

“How?” Sam pressed.

“Same way I always do.  Bullets, bacon and booze.” He paused thoughtfully and dinged the front desk bell.  “A lot of booze.”

** Dean **

Maybe Sam was lying to him, Dean thought as he looked around the pathetic, crappy interior of the Clamdiver, because there is no way anybody gave this shithole four stars on any website anywhere. The shitty half busted lights, the threadbare velvet couches, the way the stage sagged noticeably in the middle, the pole slightly askew.  It was all just desperately, terribly _sad_ , was what it was and it was exactly the opposite of what he needed right now. _Ah fuck it_ , he thought to himself, at least they have liquor. He flung himself down onto a stool at the bar and ordered a double shot of whiskey.  With a grimace, he tossed the amber liquid back, slammed the glass down and signaled to the bartender for another.  Across the room he could see a dancer watching him and he knew it would only be moments before she was next to him offering to take his mind off his problems with a dance.  And he was absolutely right. Before he could down his second round of whiskey, there she was, brushing her fingertips over his chest.

“You look sad, honey.”  Her voice was low and purring and she flicked her long reddish hair over her shoulder before looking up at him through lowered lashes clumped with thick black mascara.  “Want me to make it better?”  He didn’t really.  And then again, he did.  He sure as hell wanted _someone_ to make it better. 

“Sure, sweetheart.” He flashed her one of his patented heartbreaker grins but there was no life in it. “Go ahead.”

The skinny redheaded trailed her fingers down his arm and grabbed him by the hand leading him to one of the shabby couches.  Before he knew it, she’d pushed him down onto it and was climbing onto his lap.  He tried to enjoy the dance.  He really did. He tried to let his mind go blank and just lose himself in her soft skin and baby powder scent but he just couldn’t.  _I’m not nearly drunk enough_ he thought.  Easily rectified, that.  He signaled to the waitress and ordered another round of whiskey.  He didn’t care how long or how much booze it took, tonight he was going to forget.

** Sam **

Sam had been almost pleased to find Dean passed out on the floor of the motel, tie around his head, wearing a pink bra like a necklace in the morning.  And he’d definitely been amused watching Dean consume the mountain of bacon that had been his breakfast while Sam relayed what he’d discovered talking to the kid’s friend.  Sam was beginning to feel relieved. The case seemed to be distracting Dean from his depression.  It almost seemed like they were back in their old regular hunting groove.  Even the phone call from the kid’s mom saying the kid had had gone missing seemed par for the course and when Dean blamed himself for not pushing the kid harder for information, Sam let it go, chalking it up to Dean’s usual self-flagellation.  They’d agreed the best course of action was to head to the house where the kid’s friend had disappeared.  If he was still alive, the house seemed like their best shot at finding him.  Which is why Sam now found himself face to face with a massively creepy insane doctor ghost in a freaking plague mask of all things.  With a drill.  Fantastic.  Two steps toward Dr. Creepy Mask and Sam was airborne, flung completely across the room.  The ghost advanced on Dean, drill whirring as Sam scrambled to his feet and grabbed an iron crowbar from his bag and swung through the apparition.  Plague Mask ghost poofed in two and Sam reached out, pulling his brother to his feet.  Together they climbed the staircase to the second level of the house.  The second floor hallway lead them to a genuinely eerie room with a cobweb covered gurney and ample evidence of the good doctor’s horrible experiments. Tucked away in the back of the room was a shelf on which sat four of the creepy plague masks.  As Dean reached out and touched the beak of one of the masks, the room was suddenly filled with the sound of a drill’s motor and a bone chilling scream rang out.  The boys immediately got to work salting and burning the masks and as expected the ghost doctor burst into the room only to go up in flames along with his disturbing facial wear collection.  Sam sighed in relief before grabbing his flashlight.  They still had to find the kid. As the brothers made their way back down the hallway, to look for him. Sam realized something.

“Dean? Wait.” He put out a hand, stopping the other man for a moment.  “I can still see your breath.”

“What the hell, dude?” Dean’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I think there’s another ghost.” The lightbulbs began to pop and shatter and the pictures on the walls flung themselves to the floor.

“I think there’s a lot.” Sam ducked a shower of glass from an overhead light as he and Dean ran back down hall toward the staircase.  All around them, they could hear the ghosts whispering, searching for the doctor that had murdered them. 

“Well if they’re ghost how come we can’t see them,” Dean gasped as they avoided a trio of beds that slid toward them menacingly. 

“Maybe they aren’t strong enough to pierce the Veil.”

“The bodies have to be buried in the house somewhere,” Dean dropped his bag to floor and began to rifle through it.

“Okay so we check the house from top to bottom,” Sam said, watching Dean curiously. 

“There’s no time,” he answered, yanking a small rectangular tin from inside the canvas bag.

“So what are you going to do?” Sam felt a flicker of dread begin to grow inside his belly.

“I’m going to ask them.” Dean opened the tin and held up a fat syringe, its twin still rolling inside... “One needle stops the heart. One starts it up again.”

The flicker in Sam’s gut was now a fully formed flame. 

“No.” he spat. “No, no, no, no.” He didn’t hear any of the rest of Dean’s explanation.  He didn’t care to hear it.

“Dean you’re talking about killing yourself!” Sam’s eyes widened in fear as Dean yanked the cap from the needle with his teeth.  “That’s an insane risk to take!”

“I need three minutes,” Dean answered and before Sam could stop him, he thrust the needle into his chest with both hands, emptying the syringe into his heart. 

Sam’s entire body went cold with horror.  He watched, terrified as his brother’s body seized and clenched. Dean gave a choked gasp before collapsing onto his side, eyes rolling back into his head. 

_Fuck_.  He’d done it.  With numb, shaking fingers, Sam set a three minute timer on his watch before pulling a carton of salt from the bag and shaking it out in a circle around Dean’s lifeless body.  And then he sat down to wait. 

The seconds felt like years, the minutes like millennia.  As he sat, counting down to the moment he could plunge the second needle into Dean’s chest, reviving him, Sam contemplated how very wrong this had all gone.  Dean had killed himself.  Oh sure, he was going to come back in a couple of minutes, but the way he’d just done it, without a second thought, sent a chill up Sam’s spine that had nothing to do with the ghostly temperature drop.  Dean was not okay. The “just us two like old times” case hadn’t worked.  The booze, bacon and more booze hadn’t worked. The strip club escapade hadn’t worked.  Sam dropped his head into his hands.  The fire of dread still licking at his insides was joined by another of despair.  He didn’t know what to do.  He couldn’t help Dean.  He saw that now.  He swallowed hard past the growing lump in his throat and glared at his watch, willing the time to move faster with all his might.

Finally, after what seemed like the longest three minutes in the history of the universe, Sam’s watch beeped.  Sam grabbed the second syringe and jabbed it into his brother’s chest, pushing down hard on the plunger. He expected Dean to sit up almost immediately, that’s the way this was supposed to work, but several seconds passed and then several more and Dean remained still and unresponsive on the floor.  Sam felt his heart drop all the way to his feet and panic sprang up through him like electricity. 

“Dean.”  He shook Dean’s body by the shoulder.  “Hey, Dean! No, no, no, no, no. Dean!” He banged on his chest, calling his name over and over again, pleading with him to wake up.  He felt himself choking on his fear and desperation as he began to pray to every deity or supernatural power he could think of.  _Please_ , he begged. _Please, don’t let him go like this. Please, please, please._ Words failed him and all he could do was breathe _please_ over and over again.

Then without warning, Dean sat bolt upright panting, eyes wide and streaming.  Sam sat back on his heels and let the flood of relief wash over him. 

“Hey,” he gasped, “You’re okay.  You’re okay.”

 

** Sam and Dean **

                It was quiet in the Impala on the way back to the bunker.  Sam sat, head braced against the window, his eyes roving unseeingly over the dark fields of corn and wheat, reliving the exchange he and Dean had had outside the now ghost free house.  There had been several revelations in that conversation, not the least of which was that Billie the reaper was in fact alive and been promoted to the new Death.  Sam shook his head at the thought.  Billie was not the biggest fan of the brothers, so knowing she was now presiding over the veil between life and the afterlife filled him with an uneasy feeling bordering on dread.  He wondered just what exactly had transpired between her and Dean.  Dean had told him that she sent him back because they had “work to do.” What could that mean? Was it something specific, like stopping the Apocalypse? Or did she mean in general, their usual saving people, hunting things, family business work? Sam thoughts chased each other in circles as he tried not to think too hard about Dean’s other revelation.  That he didn’t believe in what they did anymore.  That was too big to consider for Sam.  All his life, Dean had been his rock, his compass. When he hadn’t been sure of what to do next, he’d looked to Dean.  Dean had been the driving force in every hunt.  He’d been the believer even when Sam had lost faith. Sam hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on Dean’s unwavering confidence in their mission until he’d looked into his troubled face as he confessed how lost he really was.

                “I just need a win,” he’d choked out, unable to meet Sam’s eyes.  Sam had felt his brother’s pain slice through his own heart.  And he’d stood there, lost too, unsure of how to proceed, of what to say.  He’d wanted to comfort Dean but every stupid platitude that had flitted through his mind seemed hollow and thin, unworthy of even voicing aloud.  So he’d said nothing, just climbed into the passenger seat and sat there, feeling utterly useless and broken, occasionally stealing glances at his equally broken brother.  _What now_ , he thought.  _How do we go on from here?_  The questions and uncertainly swirled around in his mind until exhaustion overwhelmed him and he dropped slowly into a troubled sleep.

                Dean drove towards the bunker on autopilot.  In his mind, he replayed his encounter with Billie. He thought of the shelves of notebooks filled with versions of his ultimate end.  Once, those shelves would have filled him with anger and indignation.  He’d have been determined to prove every book wrong, to outlive all the stories.  But now all he saw when he pictured those books was rest.  And a reprieve from the nagging, searing pain he’d felt inside every minute of every day since he’d wrapped Cas’s body in sheer yellow curtain and burned him on a funeral pyre.  He’d tried to outrun it, to ignore it, to drink it away but it had made a permanent home in his chest.  He could feel the grief like a physical pain, nestled deep behind his breastbone.  He’d told Sam he wasn’t okay, that he was far from okay but that felt like the biggest understatement he’d ever known.  He was lost, broken, drowning, and he couldn’t fight anymore.  _You want to die_ , Billie had said, her brows raised incredulously.  And he hadn’t denied it.  He couldn’t.  Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he tried to force his brain to stop thinking.  He’d never been this close to giving up before.  He couldn’t see how to go on from here.  He saw his life spread out before him, bleak and empty.  Days sliding into months into years, devoid of any purpose, of any joy.  He tried to steel himself to face it.  His knuckles were white against the black steering wheel and his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it.  How long could he endure this, he wondered.  At the moment, it felt like he couldn’t take another minute.

                Suddenly a shrill tone cut through the silence, startling Sam awake.  _Unknown Number_ flashed on the screen as Dean slid a finger across the surface to answer it.

                “Yeah,” he growled.  And then his heart stopped.

                “Hello Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little smut and a lot of love

**Dean and Cas**

Dean hadn’t been able to believe his eyes when he’d pulled into that alley and seen the familiar figure standing there next to the pay phone. And when Cas had finally turned to face him, he’d felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart drop to his stomach.  He’d crossed the distance between them in three steps and them he’d had his arms around Cas, reassuring himself that he was real, that this was actually happening.  He was painfully aware of Sam’s presence behind him and so let go of Cas quickly. Too quickly.  He wanted to hold him forever.  He wanted to touch his face.  He wanted to run his hands over his entire body, to squeeze his arms and legs, to prove to himself that this was real. To make himself believe that this was him, his Cas, genuinely here, real and solid and alive.

The ride back to the bunker was silent as the three of them, Dean and Sam and Cas sat stunned, watching the street lights flicker past the windows until they were pulling into the bunker’s underground garage. Sam and Dean hoisted their bags onto their shoulders and made their way into the bunker proper, Cas trailing behind, still silent.

“Beer run.” Dean was brusque, dropping his bag on the map table. Sam looked up, startled by his tone and confused since he knew for a fact there were at least two six packs in the fridge.  Dean didn’t meet his eye.  Instead he turned to Castiel. “Whaddya say, Cas?”  Cas cocked his head slightly, peering at Dean with his trademarked squint.  He nodded slowly.

                “Okay.” Dean nodded once and headed for the garage, Cas trailing, bemused, in his wake.  They settled themselves into the Impala and headed out into the warm, Kansas night. 

                Dean was silent as they traveled through and out of the sleeping town to the fields that surrounded it.  After several miles, Dean pulled the Impala onto a small, gravelly offshoot of the main road and killed the engine.  They sat there together, Dean and Cas, for a moment, in the soft dark, Baby’s headlights the only light for miles.  Then Dean spoke.

                “Cas, I…” He swallowed hard. “I wanna tell… I mean, I wanna say…”  He flung his head back and covered his eyes with an arm.  “Fuck, why is this so hard?”

                “Dean,” Cas gently touched his elbow, and it was like fire shooting through Dean’s entire body.  He shivered involuntarily and Cas’s blue eyes widened.  “Dean, you don’t have to…” His words trailed off as Dean moved his arm and suddenly, green eyes bored into his.  Cas’s heart jumped.  Abruptly, Dean broke off the intense stare and opened the door.  He climbed out, shut it and leaned against Baby’s sleek, black side.  Cas narrowed his eyes and exited the car, slowly circling around to stand in front of Dean. He couldn’t identify the feeling in his stomach or was it in his heart or maybe his legs.  It was beyond his experience as angel, it was a thoroughly human feeling.  He opened his mouth to say Dean’s name again but instead he just stood there staring at his face.  His breath hitched as his eyes trailed over Dean’s face. The hunter was pale, each freckle on his face blazed like a brand, his mouth a deep crimson and Cas knew if Dean raised his eyes, the green would cut straight though his body to his pounding heart.

                Dean kept his eyes down, afraid to look at Cas. Afraid to speak. Afraid. He leaned there, braced against his beloved car, mind churning, trying desperately to think of the words to make Cas understand.  For a moment, it seemed like the world had stopped spinning and time had frozen, as he and Cas stood feet from each other.  Dean moved first.  He watched in fascination and terror as his hand, his traitorous fucking hand, reached tremblingly toward Cas.  And then his fingers touched Cas’s face, light as air, barely skimming over his skin. Cas flinched. Dean looked at him, wild eyed and frightened. He started to jerk his hand back when Cas’s fingers closed sharply over his. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever.  Planets sprouted, grew and died, glaciers carved canyons through the earth all while Dean Winchester and Castiel stood motionless, breathless, fingers just touching.  This time it was Cas who broke the stillness.  He took a step towards Dean and then Dean was moving.  He shook his head once and grabbed Castiel by the lapel of his trench coat, and then his mouth was on Cas’s, his breath hot and urgent.  And, holy fucking shit, Cas was kissing him back. His lips were so soft and his mouth tasted like honey and oh, the smell of him, something like rain or wind, Dean wasn’t sure but it was all around him and he was breathing it in and it was Cas. He let go of the trench coat and slid his hands up through his thick black hair to rest on the back of his head.  With a sound like a sob, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, and backed him up until he was pressed against the door of the Impala.  Dean could feel the cold, hard slick surface of the Impala against his back, the solid heat of Cas’s body pressed against him, the rasp of Cas’s stubble on his face, Cas’s mouth pressed against his, soft and hot.  He gasped, overwhelmed by the ocean of sensation, and Cas took the opportunity to slide the tip of his tongue into Dean’s mouth. A bolt of electricity surged through Dean’s body and he bucked hard against Cas, his hips rolling instinctively.  Cas pulled back from the kiss, his blue eyes huge and dark. 

                “Dean?” His voice was a rough whisper. 

                “Yeah, Cas?” Dean reached out and touched Cas’s lips softly.  Cas sighed against Dean’s fingers and turned his cheek into Dean’s palm.  Dean skimmed his hand across Cas’s cheek, finger sliding upwards, threading through his thick, dark hair and pulled Cas back in for another kiss.

                There was a desperate urgency about Dean’s kisses that pulled hard at Cas’s heart.  He could feel Dean’s fingers tighten in his hair and he pulled the other man close against him and pressed his knee hard against Dean’s legs.  Desire sang along his nerves when Dean opened his legs and rutted against his thigh and his legs buckled slightly. Cas felt himself hardening against Dean’s jeans clad leg and he ground into him.  He’d never felt like anything like this.  He knew he had feelings for Dean, he known for years but he had had no idea what it would feel like to actually touch him this way.  To feel him pressed, hard and insistent, against his own body.  He had no idea that every touch would feel like fire, that his mouth would send bolts of desire, of need, surging through him.  He moaned into Dean’s mouth and felt the warm, slick muscle of Dean’s tongue slide along his own.  He was panting now, gasping, his legs shaking barely holding him up.  He felt Dean’s hand scrabbling down the car’s side, searching for the door handle.  He found it, jerked the door open and then Castiel felt himself spun around and pushed down hard onto Baby’s long, black, leather back seat.

                Dean stared at Cas laid out on the seat of his car and thought he’d never seen anything he’d wanted more.  Cas’s untamable hair was wilder than usual thanks to Dean’s own ministrations, his beautiful mouth kiss swollen and wet, his pupil’s huge, black almost swallowing the blue. He looked up at Dean and a slow smile began to break across his face.  Dean responded with a wolfish grin of his own and climbed into the car nudging CAS’s legs open to kneel between them. He could feel the tremor that shot through CAS’s body and it went straight to his dick.  He groaned and palmed himself through his ever tightening jeans. 

                “Get that stupid fucking trench coat off, Cas,” he growled.  CAS obliged, shrugging out of not only his trench coat but his suit coat as well.  Dean shucked off his leather jacket, tossing it behind him out of the car onto the grass.  He reached down and grabbed CAS’s blue tie, pulling him up into a searing kiss.  Cas moaned into his mouth and slid his hands across Dean’s shoulders pushing at the unbuttoned flannel shirt.  Dean dropped his arms and let Cas push the shirt off.  He grabbed the tie again, loosening it this time and sliding it off.  Cas’s long, deft fingers trembled across the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and Dean ducked his head slightly to allow Cas to pull the shirt up and over his head.

                The sight of Dean’s naked chest caused a wave of arousal to break over Cas and he had to close his eyes in an attempt to catch his breath.  As he lay there, steadying himself, he felt Dean’s hands slide up his own chest, fingers plucking open the buttons of his white dress shirt, revealing his white undershirt.

                “Fucking hell, Cas,” Dean exclaimed in exasperation. “Why do you have on so many fucking clothes?”  Cas opened his eyes and squinted at Dean’s frustrated frown, amused. 

                “I don’t know.  I am enjoying you removing them though.” Dean huffed a laugh and pulled him up, yanking the undershirt off.  They were chest to chest now without the layers of fabric between them and the sensation of Dean’s warm skin against his own was enough to send lightning scurrying down every nerve in Castiel’s entire body. Dean looked at him, green eyes lust blown and licked his lips.  Slowly his hands traveled down Cas’s chest until they reached his belt buckle. He caught Cas’s eyes and Cas nodded once and lifted his hips, then Dean’s fingers were loosening the leather belt and slipping it from his waist in one fluid movement. Cas reached down to the button on his dress pants, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

                “No,” he whispered.  “Let me.  I want to.” Cas nodded again and Dean popped the button open and pulled down the zipper agonizingly slowly.  Hooking his thumbs in the loops, he drew the pants down over Cas’s hips.  Cas toed off his shoes and socks and let Dean slide the pants off his legs.  Then he lay back on the seat dressed in nothing but his orange boxer briefs.

                “Orange, Cas?” Dean smirked.

                “I like orange,” Cas answered, rolling his eyes.  Dean snorted. Cas narrowed his eyes at him playfully. “Now which one of us has on all the fucking clothes?” Dean looked down at his jeans and boots and snorted again.

                “So weird to hear you say fuck, Cas,” Dean grinned at him. “Weird and kinda hot.” Cas grinned back.

                “Fucking, get your fucking pants off right fucking now, Dean Winchester,” Cas raised an eyebrow at him and his blue eyes flashed.  Dean gasped as that low voice traveled straight down to his cock again. 

                “Holy shit, Cas,” he panted.  “Do you have any idea what that voice does to me?” Castiel reached up to cup Dean, hard in his jeans.

                “Yes, I believe I do,” he growled.  “Now take these pants OFF.” Dean wasted no time obeying this obvious command, stripping himself of his jeans, socks and boots in no time.  Now that they were both clad in nothing but boxer briefs, Dean felt an attack of shyness sweep over him and he ducked his head to the side, bashfully.

                Watching the blush that spread over Dean’s chest and face, Cas thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful as this man, kneeling over him.  He swept his hands over Dean’s chest softly, pausing to touch a freckle here and there reverently. 

                “Cas.” Dean’s voice was a whisper that seemed to catch in his throat.  Castiel brought his hands down to Dean’s waist and then in a second, flipped them around so that Dean was under him.  He caught Dean’s mouth with his own, swallowing down the gasp that punched out of him when his back hit the leather seat. He lowered himself down onto Dean’s body, their naked chests flush now and devoured Dean’s mouth, their tongues tangled together.  Cas groaned with pleasure at the taste of Dean’s mouth.  It was even better than he had imagined it would be.  He shifted a bit atop Dean and suddenly felt Dean’s hard cock brush his own. A bolt of desire jolted through him, and he lined himself up against Dean’s cock again and thrust hard.  He felt Dean buck his hips up and thrust again, harder this time.  His boxers were quickly becoming wet and he could feel that Dean’s were as well.  Dean’s hands slid down his back until they grasped at Cas’s hips and pulled him forward roughly, sliding their dicks together again.  Cas felt Dean’s fingers slip under the elastic band of his boxers and then his cock was in Dean’s hand and he threw his head back, moaning Dean’s name.

                Dean thought he might come in his pants like a teenager before he ever got a hand on Cas when he rutted against him. His hips bucked hard against Cas’s every time he felt Cas thrust against him, his cock rubbing roughly against his own.  Determined to touch him, Dean grabbed Cas by the jut of his hips, yanked him down again, then reached into his boxers and took Cas’s cock in his hand. God, he felt amazing.  His cock was hard and wet with precome and as Dean closed his fingers around him, it twitched hard in his hand.  Dean looked up at Cas meeting his blue with his own green.  Cas pushed himself into Dean’s hand, his eyes still locked on Dean’s.  Dean let go of him and Cas whimpered softly.

                “Shh,” Dean reassured him, hooking his thumbs into his own boxers and pulling them down.  “Wanna feel you, Cas.  All of you.” Cas nodded, slipping off his own, his thick, hard cock bobbing slightly as he freed it.  Dean held out his hand and reached his other hand around the back of Cas’s head, tightening his fingers into Cas’s thick hair, and pulling him forward.

                “Lick,” he instructed and Cas complied, wetting Dean’s palm with his tongue. When he was satisfied with the slickness of his hand, Dean pulled on Cas’s hair, tilting his head back up and capturing his mouth with his own as he wrapped his wet hand around both of their lengths together and stroked upward.   

                In his entire existence, which spanned eons, Castiel had never felt anything that even approached the feeling of Dean Winchester pressing his hard, slick cock against his own and taking them both in his hand.  His vision blurred as Dean stroked them together and he began to tremble uncontrollably.  Dean’s hand began to move faster and faster and his breathing became a rough pant.  Castiel’s vision whited out as his orgasm flooded into his body and he came hard, shoving himself up into Dean’s hand.  Dean came a second later, with a sharp gasp and then a shout of “Castiel!” And then Castiel fell forward onto to him, flushed with sweat, sticky with come and gloriously, ridiculously happy.

 

                Ten minutes later, Dean found himself redressed in his jeans only, head pillowed on Cas’s dress pants clad lap, bare feet kicked up on the passenger side window as he fiddled with Baby’s stereo.   Eventually he got the volume at the level he liked, loud enough to fill the interior with the familiar sound of Robert Plant’s suggestive voice but not so loud that he couldn’t hear Cas talking.  Cas carded his hand through Dean’s short, sandy hair gently and Dean closed his eyes, unable to remember the last time he’d been touched with so much love.  He could hear Cas humming along to Led Zeppelin above him and it filled him with a sense of completeness he’d never experienced in his thirty nine years on earth.  He smiled happily and turned his head toward Cas, breathing a sigh into his hip.

                Cas watched the smile spread across Dean’s face and when he turned his face toward him and snuggled in, a bolt of joy surged through him.  He tightened his fingers in Dean’s hair for a moment, giving an affectionate tug and dropped his head back against the seat, letting the music wash over him.  He hummed along, recognizing the song when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

                “Dean?” he asked, running a finger over the curve of the hunter’s ear.

                “Mmmm?” Dean murmured without open his eyes, shivering faintly against his touch.

                “Is this my tape?” Dean opened one green eye and peered up at him.

                “Um, yeah. It is.” He answered, hesitating slightly.

                “It was in my pocket when I… when Lucifer…” Cas found he couldn’t bring himself to actually speak his own death aloud.

                “I know.”  Dean pushed himself up to peer into Cas’s face and Cas’s lap was cold and empty suddenly.  He looked back at Dean with a puzzled squint.

                “I took it out of your pocket before I…” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence, unwillingly thinking back to the cabin where he’d wrapped Cas’s body in the sheer curtains and placed him on a funeral pyre. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and clenched his hands into fists.  Tentatively, Cas ran his hand over Dean’s cheek and sighed in relief when the other man turned his face into his palm.  He caressed his freckled face softly.

                “It’s okay.  Shh.  I’m here now.  I’m okay,” he whispered reassuringly.  He pulled Dean Close, tucking his head against his bare shoulder and running his fingers through his hair lovingly.  He hummed along with the song again.

                “This one is my favorite.  This song,” he said, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead.  Dean pulled back to look into his eyes.

                “This is your favorite?” Dean smiled at him, touching Cas’s lips softly as he continued to hum along. “Why?”

                “The words,” Cas replied with a smile. Then he leaned forward touching his forehead to Dean’s gently and sang quietly, never breaking eye contact, “If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.  When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.”

                “Oh, Cas,” Dean breathed, “Let’s go home.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this, my very first fan fiction ever, unless you count the weird nonsense I filled my adolescent journal with as a twelve year old. Much credit to Andrew Dabb, Eugenie Ross-Leming, Brad Buckner, Robert Berens, Meredith Glynn, and Steve Yockey since I used a bunch of their dialogue in this story.


End file.
